


The Reading Glasses

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It was like a whirlwind dying down into a peaceful spring, and Arthur realized finally for over a hundred years they've been together and a hundred years had been a long time. They were growing old together.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reading Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from Tumblr. Just a short piece exploring the idea of growing old together. A sentimental piece.

He began to notice it when he saw the reading glasses.

They were such a small, barely noticeable detail. Thin framed and sturdy, but Arthur began to notice them after a while. At first his gaze had slipped over them, unbothered, the image of his love the same as it had always been. Yet something felt off on that face he had loved for over a hundred years, something slightly different, out of place, like a crooked painting. Still lovely, yet off. But it was when he was cuddling with him on the couch, arms encircling, protecting him, as outside the winter raged on, as Kiku read a book and Arthur read too, was when he finally saw it. Noticed it as he looked down, finally noticed the reading glasses.

“You got glasses?”

Kiku looked up, confused, and Arthur motioned to his own face. Kiku blinked, and grabbed the edge of them as if having to confirm they were there.

“I did. It’s been harder to see these days.”

“Are you alright? You’re not sick are you?”

Kiku softly chuckled at his worried tone, how Arthur would fret so easily if only because he could be so sweet. He turned back around, settling himself back into the embrace of his lover, their body warmth mixing and comforting. Outside, Arthur could hear the lonely howl of a winter wind, but it was insignificant background noise compared to how comfortable he felt now.

“I’m not sick,” Kiku assured him, turning the page, “I’m just getting old.”

Getting old. It was such an odd idea and phrase, something that meant nothing to nations. ‘Getting old’ was like saying ‘I breathe everyday’ for them. It was well-established, unnecessary to say, a common occurrence. When one is immortal, after a certain point you stop remembering your age, you don’t worry about the coming year, it all just blends together and mixes and all the days pass you by and you can’t really notice nor care. While mortals worried about what they would do tomorrow, or next month, or a year from now, nations were spared from those worries. The logic and laws of time didn’t apply to them. They were vastly different than humans and their race towards death. So upon hearing this phrase, Arthur was confused for a moment but realized Kiku had every reason to feel that way. He couldn’t tell you how old Kiku was (for most likely even Kiku would be foggy on the subject) but he knew he was older than him. It was just strange to think that it would actually, _physically_ affect him.

It wasn’t just the reading glasses either.

It showed up in other places too, reared its head in the most unlikely of places. In the quiet moments of the mornings (when the world was just waking up as well) it would show itself. As Arthur woke up groggily to find his love curled up on his side groaning in pain. He would panic for a bit but Kiku would smile at him and raise a hand telling him it’s fine. Just some back pain.

It would show itself again as Kiku narrowed his eyes at his latest medical report, the numbers telling him, yes, his blood pressure was still as high as ever. Or when Arthur would find himself in bed alone, only to venture to the veranda to find Kiku sitting there, staring up at the moon. _Just reminiscing_ , he would assure him, _I just couldn’t sleep._

He counted down the days until he would finally spot a gray hair.

And Arthur would muse on the thought of having an older lover. In the course of his years its laughable to think he hadn’t had a fling or two back in his day (and he was sure Kiku had had his own love affairs as well, which he didn’t mind). It was always exciting to have a younger lover; they made things interesting, they were so full of energy, they were something to dote on, to give you hope alongside the sturdy heaping of love. To have a lover at your same age was something comforting. Someone to relate to, to be seen with, to rely on in times of stress. In no way could they help anymore then you could; but it was nice to know someone was there supporting you nonetheless.

However, an older lover was something different.

If Arthur tried hard enough he could remember the first days Kiku and him fell in love. The subtle glances, the flirty words, the hints between the lines. It’s always so excitable when you fall in love at first, Arthur thought to himself. It’s so full of life and its unexpected; its new. You play this game of courting, you act coy and sweet and its almost child-like.

(For Arthur could remember fondly the shy yet somewhat bolder Kiku. For he could remember his more than usual daring words. It was a game of who could go further without outright saying you were in love with them. It was childish; it was exciting.)

But the days had gone on. The war was fought. The feelings bitter and their hearts had ached and at the tragic end they did not embrace tearfully neither kiss passionately. For Arthur could remember as well how he had sat down beside Kiku’s hospital bed, the sterile smell of the room filling him, and they had talked of where this would go. He couldn’t bear to look at Kiku because he could barely see him under the bandages. He couldn’t embrace him or kiss him lest he risk breaking him even more. Their reunion had been one of negotiation and a bouquet of roses as a gift, sitting in a vase by his hospital bed. This was not the hopeful ending of romantic film.

Then again, it hadn’t been an ending at all, but a beginning.

Arthur thinks that’s when they had begun maturing. For, assuredly, Kiku healed with time as all things do, and they started where they had left off. Before the breaking of the alliance, before the hate-filled fights. They took awkward stumbling steps back into love, and they nestled there together in each other’s hearts, just where they belonged. But something had changed, and Arthur noticed it now. Not just the reading glasses or the back pain or the raised blood pressure. It was the quiet trips to the grocery store, it was the passive-aggressive maneuvers on bad days, and it was the moments they didn’t need to talk at all and only soaked in each other’s presence. It was like a whirlwind dying down into a peaceful spring, and Arthur realized finally for over a hundred years they’ve been together and a hundred years had been a long time.

They were growing old together.

He had this realization as he read a book in Kiku’s living room, the tangy scent of soy sauce wafting from the kitchen. He couldn’t remember what Kiku had said he was making for dinner, but he could smell it nonetheless. He looked up from his book (an impassioned book, for Arthur loved the passionate novels the best) and realized that night that him and Kiku were growing old. Not only in a physical sense, but in an emotional sense and he was there for him along the way. They were there for each other. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and without worrying about appearances (for when you feel comfy with each other such things rarely cross your mind) he sneaked into the kitchen. Before Kiku could notice, he could feel warm arms encircling his waist, a face snuggling into his shoulder. And he stopped.

“Luv, how long have we been together?”

Kiku felt a smile tug at his lips, but he remained calm, stirring the stew as he did.

“I’ve lost count. About…a hundred years?”

“More than that I think.”

Kiku remained silent and wondered where this sudden conversation was headed. He was not worried though, only curious, and was thankful for the warm presence behind him, the tickling of breath on his neck.

“Would you say we’re dating?” Arthur spoke again.

“I would assume as much.”

“…Would you like to marry me?”

Silence.

Arthur was not scared. He was not nervous, he was not afraid, he was not embarrassed. He was rather surprised, actually, at how calm he was. For so many people are afraid of proposing, but to him it just seemed so natural and right. Perhaps this too was a part of maturing. And so he waited patiently, staying where he was, the subtle scent of tea (Kiku’s scent, a scent he loved) filling him. Finally he felt a small rumble, a shaking of shoulders and through the sound of a throaty chuckle he realized Kiku was laughing. He turned his head around then, meeting Arthur’s green eyes, a soft smile on his flushed face.

“I had thought we already were.”

And Arthur’s red face matched Kiku’s own.

Quickly, suddenly, like something out of a romantic film he swept Kiku in his arms and kissed him passionately, embraced him (but not tearfully). With knees going weak and hearts fluttering, at that moment it all felt so right and well, passionate and understood. With dinner left neglected and the world continuing on unnoticed, it was as if even time couldn’t touch them.

The magical moment broke when Arthur groaned and doubled over for a moment. Kiku fretted over him but Arthur smiled sheepishly, a hand supporting his back.

“Might’ve pulled something with that stunt,” he explained with a shrug, “Suppose I’m getting old.”

Kiku stared for a moment. Perplexed.

And then they laughed.


End file.
